


tangible

by insectoid_demigoddess



Series: godworship [6]
Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Domesticity, Emotional and Important blowjob, Explicit and Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, love is stored in the space between kouta and takatora's linked hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insectoid_demigoddess/pseuds/insectoid_demigoddess
Summary: following takatora's discharge from seito university hospital, he invites kouta to stay for the night at the kureshima estate, intent on showing his appreciation for kouta's relentless care, and more.[ godworship-compliant, directly after 'the me of yesterday'; i cannot stress enough how sexy enthusiastic consent is; contains mentions of the zangetsu stage play & trace elements of the next fic ]
Relationships: Kazuraba Kouta/Kureshima Takatora
Series: godworship [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728640
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	tangible

on the way back to zawame, kouta falls asleep with his head on takatora's lap. having dozed off before him, takatora doesn't notice this; he continues to sleep while kouta is soothed and lulled to drowsiness by the relaxed line of his mouth and the way takatora's chest rises and falls with even, peaceful breaths. 

it's not a particularly deep sleep - not enough to bridge the way to their dreamscape, or make an invitation of it - but like all other things that kouta doesn't really _have_ to do, he relishes in the luxury of it. eating, breathing, even blinking - these are things he misses when the power of overlords suffuses him, and it's a treat to indulge in them in takatora's company. moreso when takatora is awake and prone to blushing or raising questioning eyebrows at him when he just keeps staring, but being able to look at the fall and flutter of takatora's lashes as he sleeps as much as he wants is good, too.

they stay that way until the car pulls up into the kureshima's driveway. takatora stirs awake first, but he's still mostly asleep on his feet when he climbs out of the car; kouta hovers beside him, fully awake and wondering if he doesn't have special dispensation to just carry takatora inside. micchy looks like he wants to shake his head at both of them, but all he does is stay on takatora's left and lead them inside, where the steward takes one look at takatora and says they have time to rest before lunch.

it's clearly not _just_ a suggestion, and kouta feels justified when he goes to take takatora's briefcase (micchy doesn't flinch too badly at the brush of their hands, which is definitely another win). takatora, whose mouth moves like he wants to refuse, ends up with nothing to say otherwise as kouta tugs him towards the staircase; instead, he squeezes kouta's hand, thanks his brother and the steward, and doesn't reach for his briefcase as he follows kouta. 

it takes the whole trek to his room for takatora to wake up, and by the time he's properly aware of his surroundings, he's sat on his bed and kouta's coming back from crossing over to his home office, hands empty of anything that might be even vaguely related to work. 

"feel like another nap?" kouta asks as he sits beside him, fully ready to fluff pillows and dim the lights or position himself for a cuddle, or do whatever else takatora needs. he's maybe over-eager, and let the invitation to stay the night get to his head - but, he reasons with himself, takatora's awake enough to tell him off or give him alternatives, if it's too much. 

which is exactly what he does, resting a warm hand on kouta's knee and leaning close to press a soft kiss on kouta's cheek. "i'll miss lunch entirely if i do. i'm going to take a shower." as he's heading for the bathroom, takatora says, "call akira, she messaged me earlier this morning and i haven't replied yet."

that's enough to hold kouta's attention for twenty minutes or so. he fishes takatora's phone out of the jacket he'd left on the bed, and within the first few moments of the call, akira is already prodding him about working himself too hard. once she's satisfied by his meandering explanations about nudging civilizations along being less work and more waiting, she asks about takatora in the same brisk but clearly concerned manner ("oren-san's friend said there was an _incident_ , he almost drove out himself!"). it warms kouta to no end how fond his sister is of takatora, so it's easy to promise to relay her _get-well-soon_ 's and _follow-what-the-doctor-say_ 's to him as soon as he can.

after that, kouta can't _not_ call oren next, and while this conversation is much shorter than the first, it goes down the same route and ends at the same place: a well-meaning reminder for takatora to take it easy ( _or else_ ). peko is next on the list, but just when he's about to hit the call button, takatora returns with a towel over his head and a worn pair of slacks. he sets his button-down aside as he sits on the bed, and kouta takes command of the towel before he even raises his hands. 

as he's drying takatora's hair, knelt on the bed behind him with his shoes hastily kicked off, kouta dutifully delivers akira's and oren's messages of concern and loving threats, while takatora texts peko after his attempted call meets a busy dial tone. at the tail end of his message is a bit about peko letting him know when it's convenient to call, which draws a grin onto kouta's face.

"might wanna schedule a longer lunch at charmant soon," kouta quips, and takatora does just that, making a note on his schedule in between tabs of varying colors and urgency. "they're relentless," he sighs, as kouta decides to nix the brush in favor of combing his fingers through takatora's hair. the fondness that colors the simple words tells kouta he's smiling, just as the way takatora leans against him says he's well and truly settled. 

"they care about you," kouta says, dropping a kiss on takatora's mostly presentable hair. "speaking of, it's been half an hour and if i don't get you down for lunch, your steward might actually scold me."

"impossible, sanada likes you."

takatora slips his shirt on, minding his arm and bandages, finds a comb, and in the few seconds it takes kouta to find his shoes and put them back on, goes from 'mostly presentable' to 'young master of the house' like it's nothing (kouta thinks it's in the set of his shoulders, straightened now in a natural way, but he knows he's biased). 

they leave takatora's rooms and make the trek to the dining room where micchy is waiting, eyes glued to his phone before he notices their arrival. sanada brings the food out, and, as he's passing behind micchy who's right across kouta, he catches kouta's eye and gives him a simple nod. under the table, takatora bumps his foot against kouta's, and he takes the _i told you so_ with a smile of his own.

takatora can count on one hand and have a finger to spare the times he's sat down for a meal with his brother and kouta at the table, and this one is as stingingly awkward but surprisingly pleasant as the last.

it helps that they're on a united front against him, seated at his left and right even, and takatora lets their voices, rising and steady in a matching cadence, wash over him as he eats. at this point, the only thing they require of him is his agreement, and there's no reason, not even the dulling ache of his injury, for him not to give it. 

"the investors called while we were en route back--"

"you're _not_ having a meeting right after you were discharged, _takatora_ \--"

"--is what _i_ said, thank you, kouta-san, and i told them to ask mei-san about your schedule, and _she's_ at dance practice today, so they're floating and fuming, i suspect."

"good, they can manage themselves for a while."

"that's a bit risky, but hidari-san was in the call, too, and he said--"

"uh, shoutaro?"

"no," and here mitsuzane purses his lips, a minute mark of his frustration at using the wrong name (again, he can't quite remember which hidari prefers his first name instead), "philip-san, that is, he said they can convene later."

takatora says, "we'll have a meeting about the incident in full at another day," and murmurs his gratitude for mitsuzane's help. he knows his brother dislikes having anything to do with this aspect of his work; they're both careful not to make a habit of it, aside from when it can't be helped. mitsuzane parrots back a polite response and kouta, seemingly content with however vague 'another day' is, tucks into his food without further comment. 

the silence that follows after is abrupt, but not unnatural. if he or mitsuzane had been the type to be chatty during meals, it might be a point of concern, but takatora lets the sound of cutlery in regular use speak for itself. for a while, mitsuzane hides behind his plate, takatora resolves to finish his specifically lighter portions, and kouta doesn't press for conversation. when they do start back up again, it's about the move set at the end of the month.

"i'll finish packing up the library by the end of this week - if it's okay to have the beat riders over to help, nii-san?" 

"oh, oh, is that this month already?" kouta is, as he'd been when takatora mentioned their plans, charmingly excited about the move (he thinks they have too many rooms; takatora agrees completely). mitsuzane glances down at his phone before nodding, "three more weeks, or so. maybe another week, since nii-san wants to supervise cleaning out the storage room."

it's a behemoth of a task, and takatora had, in his stubbornness, slotted it right after his presentations for the government _and_ a trip abroad; despite expectations, both are now delayed and takatora adds another contact to call on his list. "i'll speak with the moving company. the storage room can wait." 

realizing he hadn't answered mitsuzane's first question, takatora adds, "the beat riders are more than welcome. let sanada know, so they won't go hungry for their troubles. and, if they find anything useful in the library, let them know they're invited to keep it."

"i will." there's a smile somewhere behind the glass mitsuzane lifts to his mouth, prompting a spot of warmth to bloom in takatora's chest. his brother excuses himself quickly after that, and though there's not a trace of a smile on his mouth, takatora contents himself with the fact that there's nothing of stress in the loose line of his posture either.

as a maid cleans up their plates, kouta muses, "the storage room… sounds like a lot of work?" there's more to the idle question, takatora feels, so he simply nods and allows kouta to continue. "like, you'd want more help with _that_ , specifically?"

'help' is too gentle a word. the move to a new, less imposing house would be infinitely simpler if takatora could conveniently ignore the matter of the kureshima estate's storage room, unopened for years and virtually a time capsule of the many esoteric (and likely extra-legal) interests the family had accumulated even before takatora's time.

kouta's hopeful look prompts takatora to admit as much. "if there was at all a way that i could dispose of everything that _can_ be disposed of, without triggering some unnatural imbalance, i would be grateful."

"i'll put out a call," is kouta's easy suggestion. "philip's definitely getting a cut of it, right? i'll ask the other guys, i know someone's an archeology major, and eiji's probably neck deep in it by now…"

it's a thoughtful, kind gesture. takatora knows without a doubt that kouta will do his best to find a way to help him, and it doesn't feel cloying or invasive at all. buoyed by the thought, it comes naturally to takatora to say his thanks; it seems incongruent that the way he does so brightens kouta's face with such a happy smile, but any protest of unfairness is quieted immediately when kouta says, "anything for you."

they finish lunch in silence, though as they leave the dining room, takatora has to assure sanada that he isn't suffering a fever, despite how flushed his face is. 

  
after lunch, kouta surrenders to takatora's logic about letting the investors and the bureau know at least an abridged version of what happened at seito university. "they need an official statement, and the sooner i pacify them, the less likely that they'll bother me for a conference call before tomorrow afternoon."

like takatora had explained at the start of their way home, the injury itself isn't the main concern. both groups he plans to call are familiar with these kinds of incidents and the consequences the kureshima's private physicians impose afterwards (they're not as docile as the doctors from seito feared, kouta is glad to know; they just choose their battles more carefully). with the ministry of health personally involving itself, takatora didn't see any of them bothering to throw more than a 'perfunctory fit'. with two weeks and proper care, his injury would heal and be no more of a problem than the other scars he bears with, the bureau would resume insisting on expanding his security detail, and the investors would move on to the next item on the list. 

it's the _other_ treatment, the conversations with a vetted therapist and periodic evaluations of his overall health, that pose a challenge - "those vultures would love any perceived weakness to tear into," - but it's one that takatora fully intends to contend with. 

simply put, though, kouta just hates the stress the whole ordeal puts on takatora, despite how it's supposed to _lessen_ said stress. 

as they stand at the doorway of his home office, takatora gently rubs out the downturned corner of kouta's mouth, reassuring him, "i invited you to stay the night. that means, i plan on spending the night with _you_."

in one fell swoop, the quirk of takatora's lips around the words and the kiss he presses to kouta's forehead puts a stop to any protests kouta might have had. knocked off his stride, kouta stares at the closed door for a few seconds, before clapping his hands twice on his cheeks and resolutely marching himself out of takatora's rooms.

his rapid pace takes him halfway through the mansion, across most of the lived-in spaces, and by the time his face has calmed down enough to be seen by another living person (the golden glow radiating from him bounced eye-searingly off windows and fancy vases as he passed them), kouta finds himself at the library. luckily, because micchy is there, with a pen and a sticky note pad, and a polite nod when kouta greets him.

sharp like always, micchy only needs a few seconds of kouta silently rocking on the balls of his feet and glancing around before he says, "you can knock again in two hours if nii-san doesn't come out before then. sanada will have a snack tray for him."

"...right! snacks, yeah, that sounds like a plan, thanks micchy." kouta smiles, grateful and relieved, and tries not to take the way micchy keeps his eyes on the books in front of him too personally. when micchy says, "you're welcome, kouta-san," he sounds like he means it, so kouta doesn't push.

he walks around the library while micchy works, and by the time he finishes two shelves, kouta has the distinct impression that moving the library's contents out would, without a doubt, make a good substitute for a workout for the beat riders. he says as much out loud, and, after a moment of thought, micchy hums and agrees.

"they're also excited because it's the first time they're visiting my house." micchy speaks carefully, without the same bright tone kouta had known him for and without looking at kouta's direction; there's a real distance between them that kouta knows better now than to recklessly bridge, and he accepts the clunky tension in the air as a part of the way micchy can communicate with him. it's endearing, in a way, how hard he's trying, and how much he sucks at it. 

"hopefully the staff won't mind the extra noise, you just _know_ someone's going to bring a speaker or two to liven things up." music is a beat rider's staple, along with rhythm and movement - they wouldn't go an afternoon without any of the three if they could help it. 

there's the suggestion of a smile in the way micchy ducks his head to check on his phone and as he says, "sanada is already very fond of peko, so it won't be a problem."

 _you look really fond of peko, too_ , kouta doesn't say. it may or may not be a problem, but, whatever - it's good to see micchy reaching out and allowing people to reach out to him. 

still, kouta _really_ hopes they're moving out of the 'need to be punched for penance' phase, which is what _this_ (and kaito's recent more tight-lipped than usual responses to questions about team baron) comes across as.

"good for him! honestly, it's pretty nerve-wracking when sanada looks at you sometimes, y'know?" kouta shoves his hands in his pockets, mimicking micchy's resolute stare at a different set of shelves, imagining the first few times he'd encountered the steward. "like, he could be saying i've overstayed my welcome and i wouldn't get it 'cause i'm too nervous about not choking on the food."

"sanada likes you," micchy says simply. something warped goes unsaid, but kouta can read the mood of it just from the way micchy squares his shoulders. just like that, their almost-casual conversation shrivels up. kouta will still recount it as a win with mai later, but for now he knows it's better to retreat. 

"i hope he doesn't mind i'm staying for dinner, then. takatora invited me over for the night."

micchy taps something out on his phone before nodding, his eyes fixed on the next shelf.

"i'll let sanada know, kouta-san."

takatora's mouth fits oddly around the word 'therapy'. not out of any sort of disdain or presumption of it being unnecessary, but rather out of - _hesitance_. nervousness, anxiety. a line of fear that he can neither articulate properly nor wholly ignore. 

it's daunting, to consider the possibility of absolution from someone else. condemnation, he's familiar with, but even the _idea_ of having another person look at what he's done and say 'it's alright' dissolves the floor under his feet. like falling off the cliff in helheim, or thinking of the dozens of mistakes he'd made even before that.

(all of them have names but there are some he goes out of his way to avoid if he wants to function at all. like masahito, or ryoma, or touka, or kureshima amagi.) 

he's talked with oren about some of the things they've been through, made excuses for each other and buried them under flaky crusts and bitter coffee. he's made his apologies to the beat riders, who should not have written off his 'bad, terrible, god-awful choices' as easily as they did in favor of positioning themselves as visibly and as actively in the rebuilding efforts as they could. he's visited the mass memorial, on foot and in disguise, with akira's hand anchoring him in place and, later, clutching at his own as they leave. 

_this_ is different from all of those things. 

on a level, takatora knows forgiveness is a lofty thing to pursue. it isn't something he's entitled to, no matter how much he washes his hands or works them to the bone. nevertheless, it isn't something he's totally disallowed from receiving, whatever form it takes - and _this_ , this is the notion that stalls him. 

(making things right between himself and the people he's hurt is inextricable from fixing zawame, and he's only now coming to terms with the recent reminder that one need not be at the cost of the other.)

he says it's for his continued optimal health, when the investors (sans philip, who has inserted himself into a separate call scheduled much later) ask about the adjustments to their meetings on the agenda, and the attached revisions for the protocols involving yggdrasil protestors. he says it's required by the ministry of health, considering the efforts he's involved in, like kiriya noted during their talk. he lays it out like an imposition, not something he's making himself cling to because he's afraid of what will happen if he doesn't. 

it's easy to lie to these people who look at him and at zawame with condescending indulgence - it suits them to be manipulated by their greed and fooled into thinking they have the upper hand. 

it's much harder to do the same with the bureau, and the handful who express palpable concern for him -- but, takatora manages. 

he wonders how much harder it will be when he talks with someone separate from either sphere, or what the effort to be honest but not cripplingly self-deprecating will cost him. it'd probably be a lot. 

but, despite that - he wants to do the right thing. 

(in the months before he and kouta spoke again, takatora poured his fears and doubts into the lockseed that never left his reach. 

_i don't know if i have the right to, if my hands aren't stained too deeply that i'd be spreading a blight on whatever good i try to achieve._

_what are the things that i can change, with my own two hands? they seem so little, so few, compared to all that i've ruined. i took responsibility over human lives, as i was taught, and look at what became of that ludicrous, arrogant assumption._

_my responsibility hasn't changed. but the things i can do… is there anything else i can do?_

of course, no answer had been forthcoming. he hadn't expected any, and doubted, too, that there was any good answer at all. 

in the end he'd just kept thinking of what kouta had told him, that simple idea that weighed down his fears and worries to something solid, somewhere in his reach.

 _you can transform yourself, takatora._ )

at exactly two hours past takatora's self-imposed not-really-a-meeting, kouta brings up a tray of sandwiches and tea to his home office. 

sanada had allowed him to take the snack tray with minimal fussing, even waving off the maid who'd tried to take it. "dinner is at seven," the steward had said as he shooed kouta out, "please make sure to be prompt." 

kouta repeats the reminder when the door opens, and doesn't step inside until takatora echoes it. "i just wouldn't want to make the guy who feeds you angry, is all."

"the fact that he lets you handle my food tells me that you've already cemented yourself in his good graces." kouta barely holds back a laugh (the tea things are _delicate_ ) when takatora continues, "neither mitsuzane nor i are allowed to use the coffeemaker, we need supervision."

kouta sets the tray on the coffee table next to a bonsai and a pile of magazines. they sit on the couch together, close enough for their knees to touch and for kouta to brush takatora's hair from his face. the gesture smooths out the wrinkles around the tight set of takatora's mouth, and coaxes it into a slight smile.

"no more work today," kouta says, and if it sounds like a command, that's because _it is_ , and takatora is fully aware of it. he nods, picks out a sandwich, and lets kouta's hand rest on his thigh without protest. 

kouta waits until he's finished at least two sandwiches and a cup of tea before asking, with all the seriousness the question deserves, exactly _why_ the kureshima brothers aren't allowed to use the coffeemaker in their own house. 

takatora actually _pouts_ and kouta barely holds himself together. 

"to begin with, i'm perfectly aware of how many beans _should_ be ground up before they go into the filter…"

the rest of the afternoon's tension bleeds out of takatora as he explains himself, and kouta laughs so much that he needs a cup of tea to calm down. 

across them, the sun dips lower into the horizon and sets without notice.

before dinner, mitsuzane leaves. not unnaturally, not out of any sort of fugue, and not without letting takatora know. he knocks on takatora's door, says he's having dinner outside and may be back late, and not ten minutes after his departure, peko messages takatora. 

[ _yakiniku party @ base!!!_

 _promise to keep micchy if he gets smashed (responsibly) ✨✨✨_ v(=∩_∩=)ﾌ

 _you and kouta eat well too!_ ]

perhaps in some other timeline, these messages would be dated far earlier in his logs, or perhaps be missing from them entirely. perhaps he wouldn't have a contact under the name "peko 🎩" at all, and he'd never have to agonize over his replies to the boy who'd echoed kouta's words without knowing it. here and now, however, takatora replies with his thanks and similar well-wishes with only a brief grapple with his wordiness. he receives another bizarre but amusing collection of symbols in reply. 

"maybe i'll join them sometime," kouta remarks after he's told why there's only two places set at the table (they both don't say a word about the lit candles). "with mai, too, when she's not busy. have i mentioned she's gotten hooked on trains? _yeah_ , there's one that came by, out of nowhere, serves omurice for some reason..."

as kouta talks, takatora watches him. he's animated and expressive, as he is about any other topic, and sometimes he even reaches across the table to clasp takatora's hand, just because he _wants to_ and because he _can_. it's the same energy that had led to him doubling up in laughter earlier that afternoon, and it slots itself neatly next to every other time takatora has had the pleasure of coveting his attention.

"you look happy," takatora observes, when kouta takes a moment to drain his glass and wipe at his mouth. he doesn't strictly need to eat, or breathe, or adhere to any of the myriad of human conventions - but he does, because he enjoys it, and there's no question about that when kouta smiles and twines their hands together. 

"i am," he replies. "you do, too."

it must be true, if the quiet laugh takatora reacts with without second guessing is anything to go by. 

privately, he feels deliberately mellowed down by kouta fussing over him all day, an overflow from how worried he'd been just yesterday. he wonders if kouta had noticed how he's been hovering, and thinks that it might have been written off as natural. kouta takes care of him because he wants to, and for his own peace of mind. 

the thought settles something in takatora, who, emboldened by the feeling of an idea clicking in place, says as simply as he can, "i _am_ happy." kouta squeezes their linked hands, and takatora doesn't fight the compulsion to add out loud, "with you."

it draws a flush on kouta's cheeks, up to his ears, and the man who leaves his godliness at the threshold like a pair of work shoes stammers.

"y- that! _of course_ , i- me, too, _definitely_..."

it's endlessly endearing. takatora recognizes that he'd seen the beginnings of the same expression when kouta had left him with his calls, when he'd reiterated the reason why he'd asked kouta to stay for the night. 

"i think i'm too full for dessert," takatora muses, disentangling their hands and rising from his seat, "why don't you finish it for me, while i go get ready?"

"to sleep?" kouta asks, blinking widely. his voice cracks audibly, and his eyes are fixed on takatora, who stands just beside his seat. 

across the room, sanada enters with a covered tray. 

dropping his voice so only kouta could hear, takatora answers, "to spend the night on you."

as takatora walks away, he nods at his steward. before he's out of earshot, he hears sanada commenting that it's lucky tonight's dessert is something chilled, "it'll help you cool down, kazuraba-san."

being abandoned at the dining table with frozen fruits and ice-cream was not as terrible an experience as kouta thought it would be. it helped that he had something _else_ to focus on, and sanada had been right, the dessert _did_ cool him down, thankfully. 

still, he walks into takatora's bedroom with a purpose (centered vaguely around stopping takatora from saying anything else as ruinous)-- only to stop short at it being empty.

"takatora?"

"in here," takatora replies from the bathroom. "how was dessert?"

despite his stride being broken, kouta finds himself answering easily enough. "great, you should have had some, sanada said there's more in the fridge if you like."

"maybe tomorrow," takatora says. "sit on the edge of the bed, please. i want to use my mouth on you."

kouta nearly walks into the sharp corner of a side table. the strangled "oh?" that croaks its way out of him is embarrassing, but he can't help it. he hopes he doesn't sound too eager, hopes the raised pitch of his voice radiates surprise instead.

"yes," takatora answers, still from the bathroom. the door is open, which means kouta is allowed to poke his head in - but he doesn't, seeing as how he's still reeling from the mental image he's been abruptly gifted with. 

somehow, kouta manages a "thank you" that he hopes sounds as appreciative as it is dumbfounded. takatora ruins him even more when he replies, his smile perfectly audible, "you're welcome."

distantly, kouta finds himself dimming the lights, checking the locks, and putting takatora's phone on silent. the stream of movement from the doors (to his home office, to the hallway) to the dresser (where he leaves takatora's phone) and back to the side table keeps him from dissolving into giddy writhing, and doubles as confirmation that they wouldn't be interrupted. 

though, it doesn't keep kouta from feeling a touch awkward as he sits himself on the bed like takatora asked. he ends up taking his shoes off and tucking them neatly beside a corner of the bed, fluffing and piling up pillows, and turning the covers over for later. 

not a moment sooner, the bathroom door opens fully and takatora steps out. in the low light that best imitates the moment before their dreamscape manifests, takatora makes his way to him, the look on his face arresting kouta's attention as easily as forgetting how to breathe. 

takatora's eyes are warm when they focus on kouta, smoldering when his lashes flutter. the line of his mouth is curved at the edges, making a smile that sends kouta's stomach flopping all over. there are dimples in his cheeks, which are flushed pink and inviting kouta's hand to cup them. 

it's a good look on him, even in kouta's exhaustive and biased experience. he looks happy and excited, but in a gentle way. pliant, like he'd be perfectly okay with kouta keeping him in bed and kissing him for hours. 

and then takatora comes to stand in between his legs, and part of kouta's brain, the one involved with identifying patterns and making logical connections - _stutters_. omniscience _nothing_ , despite being explicitly told about what takatora wanted to do, in words that couldn't have been misunderstood and which were somehow simultaneously _worse_ and _better_ than any similar slang, it's still a surprise to witness it. 

_it_ being: takatora unbuttoning his dress shirt and shrugging it off with a fluid roll of his shoulders and the most demure and distracting push of his chest. takatora undoing the button and zipper on his pants, but leaving it on. takatora wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, and asking, "do you want these off?" as he hooks his thumbs under his waistband.

kouta feels his throat dry up and his tongue grow heavy and useless in his mouth. his eyes don't know where to settle - even half naked, there's so much of him bared, unselfconsciously - and takatora doesn't seem inclined to tell him where he can look. the possibility that there's nowhere that he _can't_ , supported by the fact that takatora takes up his entire line of sight, is maddening. 

eventually, kouta shakes his head. there's a thick rug under his bare feet, and he doesn't want takatora to get rugburns on his knees. the smile that blooms on takatora's face tells kouta it's a good choice; he tries not to react at the hint that takatora plans to _stay_ on his knees long enough for the chafing to matter. 

"maybe later," takatora muses, _dangerously_ kouta would say if he could come up with a static thought. "now, spread your legs."

this time, kouta _does_ twitch, a full-body flinch that tugs the line of his spine straight and his dick to almost painful attention. he'd been half hard since dessert and now there's no question of it; his pants feel too tight and he's completely forgotten how to just vanish them away, his mind fixated on the idea of takatora _doing something_ about it. if takatora notices his momentary lapse, he doesn't say anything, just waits for kouta to do as he'd asked. 

which, he does: kouta opens his legs wider, and watches breathlessly as takatora sinks with dignified grace to his knees in between them. when he rests his palms on kouta's thighs, they're warm and steady, like his gaze that captures kouta's with just the delicate flutter of his lashes. 

kouta feels like he should open his mouth to say something, _anything_. well, not a complaint, maybe a question? something that would probably still come out strained and faltering anyway, because the longer that takatora stays like this in front of him (even with his bandaged arm, neat and clean and clearly not a bother), the less kouta remembers of words that aren't _please_ , _is this okay_ , or _thank you_. 

takatora's hands start caressing his thighs, calling kouta's focus back, and kouta is happy to wrench it away from the spiral of his thoughts. he smiles down at takatora as he asks, "something on your mind?"

"i was thinking about what you said, yesterday. about how i wouldn't be of help to anyone, if i was hurt."

takatora doesn't drop his gaze, and over the live current of arousal that thrums in kouta, he hears how carefully takatora is choosing his words. he covers takatora's hands with his own, and nods for him to continue. 

"that's about other people, people who are important. but you didn't say anything about yourself."

a smile tugs on kouta's mouth. "don't i count as 'other people'?"

if takatora's eyes were smoldering before, kouta doesn't know how to describe them now - 'burning' sounds too violent, and there's nothing of the feeling in the way that takatora leans up to kiss him, pressing close to kouta like he's telling him _i'm here_. this surge feels like the pressure of the tides, a wave that kouta welcomes with open arms.

with their lips barely a breath apart, takatora says, "not just that. not to me."

kouta is surprised by the sting that echoes in him at those words. he isn't ignorant of the place he holds in the hearts of other people, but like takatora just said - to him, takatora isn't just 'other people'. the sting dissolves into warmth, spreading from the core of him to his fingertips and his palms as he cups the back of takatora's head, to his lips when he fits them against takatora's to say _thank you_ through a kiss.

when takatora pulls away, he continues, just a touch breathless, "outside of what i can do for the sake of humanity, you want me _here_ , with you."

"not - you know," kouta tries to speak through the sudden lump in his throat, uncaring of how his voice cracks, because it's important to him that takatora knows that he does want him, but not just because of _this_. his hands may be trembling as they comb through takatora's hair and caress his cheek, but at least his voice is steady enough when he continues, "not exactly, _on your knees_ , or, just, not _only_ like this--"

"i know," takatora reassures him, his voice softening, a soothing mimicry of how he feels when he's resting against kouta's shoulder, "i know." 

gently, but with purpose, takatora takes kouta's hands into his, and presses a kiss to his palms and the points where his pulse should be. when he speaks, he sounds so awed and reverent, it'd bother kouta more if not for what he says. 

"you believe that by just being 'takatora', i deserve your love." 

it's hard not to argue, to insist that takatora deserves more than that, that he deserves friends and family and to see the sun rise over zawame and not worry about keeping it that way--but kouta doesn't get to say any of that, as takatora continues. 

"will you let me do this, so i know that i can give you happiness, pleasure, just as myself? so i have… something tangible to think of."

takatora always uses more words than he should, when he's nervous. the entire line of him tightens, makes angles where there should be curves, and his eyes turn fit to spark a fire. 

not now, though. they both make a concentrated effort to communicate plainly to each other, with or without spoken words, and kouta knows that _this_ is takatora being as clear as he can, eloquent as ever with the handful of words he's decided he absolutely needs.

there's heat in his eyes, yes, but no desperation. he looks at kouta the way he did the first time he asked to do this (and he still uses the same phrase, which drives kouta just a _touch_ insane), eyes alight with the fervent desire to _give_ kouta something to enjoy. before, it was to reciprocate; now, it's something else. 

in no uncertain terms, takatora's made it clear that he wants _this_ \- to kneel for kouta, to give kouta pleasure above his own (or even, regardless of his own, which is a thought kouta just knows takatora is holding), to witness kouta come undone from his efforts. 

laid bare like this, takatora's intentions twist kouta into desperately tangled vines. he's sure that if there was less of a human heart in him, he wouldn't have second thoughts about manifesting those vines and holding takatora down with them. if in this moment, if the glow that tinges takatora's skin the lightest shade of gold was coming from something unearthly, there would be no question about taking his pleasure from takatora without acknowledging the reason behind it. 

but he's not 'other people' to takatora. he's not just a god, either. 

as he lifts his hand to brush takatora's hair from his face, to cup his cheek and caress the swell of his lower lip, kouta thinks of how easy it is to answer. 

"you want this, so i want it, too."

kouta leans in to kiss him, a gentle press of lips that lets him swallow up takatora's relieved sigh. even with this small connection, kouta receives impressions of takatora's thoughts, willingly shared with him if takatora's hands on his shoulders, keeping him still, are anything to go by. 

_this isn't for atonement. this isn't to absolve guilt. this is because i want to. because you're kouta, and being with you makes me happy._

( kouta remembers thinking: _takatora's happiness comes from simple things, masquerading as difficult things. he doesn't covet takatora's happiness, that's his to find._

it's humbling to get hit by hindsight. )

"keep your hands to yourself first."

kouta bites his lip as he nods, before pulling his hoodie and shirt off in one tug. takatora is still knelt in front of him, and his kiss-bitten lips are _right there_ , but - _hands to yourself, kouta_ , he reminds himself. _for now._

his khakis are next, with less fumbling than expected because it's takatora's fingers on the button, it's his hand pulling the zipper down, and if the whole step stalls at that point, it's because it's takatora's mouth trailing kisses down his chest to just above his navel. somehow, while kouta was staring at takatora's bowed head, his pants have met the floor and then takatora's hot, damp mouth is against the shape his cock makes in his boxers. 

" _thankyou_ ," kouta murmurs, with the feeling he wishes he could work through with his hands, preferably in takatora's hair. uselessly, he fists his hands in the sheets instead, and repeats, rushing the syllables of the word into a single sound as takatora's tongue wets the head of his cock through the fabric, " _thankyou_."

"i've barely started," takatora says, nipping little kisses along kouta's length, "but your appreciation is flattering."

he's encouraged, which is good, and he's slipping his hand low to cup and massage kouta's balls which is, also, _good_. 

it all makes kouta's toes curl and his breath hitch, how deliberately takatora is focusing on him. he can feel the pinprick sparks ignited by takatora's nails grazing over his inner thigh, the steady press and drag of takatora's other hand over his length, and the absolutely maddening sensation of takatora's mouth around the precum stained head of his cock. kouta has reasonable confidence that he may cum from just this, in rapidly short order, possibly if combined with the addition of takatora saying his name. 

and then takatora pulls back a little, presses a kiss to kouta's hip, and looks up at him from under his lashes, and asks, "would you hold my hair back for me, kouta?"

a garbled sound escapes from kouta. he's beyond being embarrassed by it, and instead sinks into the feeling of deep satisfaction that takatora's smile gives him when he raises a hand to do just as he'd been asked. takatora's hair is soft and he'd kept it long like kouta wanted, and so it's easy to grab and hold away from takatora's face. 

there's virtually no time for the cool air that kouta only vaguely remembers exists in this closed off bedroom to touch his cock and send a shiver down his spine. the moment the head of it clears the elastic of his boxers as takatora pulls them down, takatora's mouth is there, lips sealed neatly around the crown. 

a jolt of electricity down his spine makes kouta's hips buck, but he doesn't get very far - takatora holds him down with an elbow across his thigh and a hand on his hip, the movements of his mouth and tongue uninterrupted and unhurried. 

through the muffled buzzing in kouta's ears, he hears soft suckling and the sticky pop of kisses, all highlighting the unimaginably brain-melting sound of takatora moaning around his cock. it's not a continuous, exaggerated sound, but every time kouta catches it, he feels a little less inclined to be upright. godliness or optimal human state or whatever, kouta is absolutely _sure_ he isn't going to last long. 

"that's fine," takatora says, moving on to pull kouta's boxers off completely, in an act of mercy so sweet it seems like torture. "i'll just keep you in my mouth until you're ready again."

" _guh_ ," kouta says, half-collapsing on his elbow and feeling as if his lower body has disconnected from the rest of him, the urge to cum blitzing from a live wire into something static and blinding. takatora has his thumb and forefinger squeezing just below the head of his cock, and his tongue running up the length of it, and kouta can barely curl his toes into the carpet. 

"thank you… i think?" is the best response that kouta can scrounge up, as he tries to draw in enough breaths to survive takatora taking his cock into his mouth again like he hadn't just, _said_ things and made kouta _think_ things that should be, if they aren't already, _illegal_ outside of the four corners of his bed. 

kouta can feel takatora smile around his cock. he can _see_ it, also, when he says, "you're welcome, kouta." feeling ruined again, kouta can only whimper. his hand, still valiantly combing and holding takatora's hair in place, tightens briefly, but kouta keeps his grip firm without sacrificing gentleness. 

"is this okay?" kouta asks, once he finds his voice again and once takatora establishes a rhythm between his mouth and fingers, and his cock and balls and the sliver of skin behind them. the warm and wet aren't new sensations, but it's takatora on his knees doing them, and the thought alone has kouta feeling shivers pooling low in the core of him. 

"do _you_ like it?" takatora asks in return, eyes fixed on kouta as he licks at kouta's leaking cock. his hair is mussed and his lips are red and swollen, and there's precum staining his chin. he's _still_ the most dignified, graceful thing kouta's ever seen. 

" _yes_ ," kouta says with feeling, "thank you." and then because he realizes that he's capable of more lines of thought, kouta adds, "please let me kiss you later?"

takatora laughs quietly, with the slightest hint of a rasp in the sound. he licks his lips, raises a thumb to wipe at his chin and licks at that, too. "you can do anything you want with me, when i'm finished."

an almost reverent " _babe_ ," comes out with kouta's sigh of breath. he slumps backwards, grazing his nails distractedly over takatora's scalp, and resolves to be as thorough as possible when he gets his turn. 

from the moment takatora asked, kouta has kept his hair from his face with a gentle - if sometimes tremulous - grip. despite obviously wanting to cum, he hasn't, and though he jerks and twitches in mindless desperation at times, he's kept himself mostly in check with barely any help from takatora. 

he hasn't tried to haul takatora up and fit himself between his legs like the last time takatora had done this, only doing as he'd been told and trying his hardest to let takatora do what he wants without interruption. kouta is vocal with his appreciation, effusively so, but almost certainly unaware of how many times he's _actually_ called takatora by his name or 'babe' or said 'thank you' in strung up syllables. he keeps biting his lip, but his hand is still so, so gentle in takatora's hair. 

without anything else to focus on, takatora is confronted with the reality that, even when pushed to the edge, kouta will always want to be gentle with him. nothing he can say or do, aside from a direct request, will change this. 

kouta will cherish him, even if he thinks he doesn't deserve it (he hasn't thought that concretely in so long, but it's a valid measure).

it's overwhelming. it's a reality he hasn't looked at closely enough, like the way he addresses the threats on his life by the people of zawame who still carry their pain close to their hearts. it's real and try as he might, nothing would change it. 

takatora wants kouta to feel that, too. that takatora cherishes him just as much, that he wants every good thing for him, anything he's capable of giving. in this moment, it's sexual, sensual pleasure, but later it'll be lingering kisses drowned in affection. later it'll be the contentment of seeing takatora get enough sleep. later it'll be the simple joy of sharing another meal together, of saying goodbye and knowing he's expected back.

takatora can't possibly be forgiven for every mistake he's committed. but he can be loved for every other act he decides to do, every time he chooses to be better than he was. 

it's heady to think of these things while he bows his head over kouta's cock and uses his mouth and hands to bring him to completion. almost sacrosanct, but takatora isn't sure to which that applies. 

the weight and taste of kouta on his tongue is grounding, though, and takatora decides he's done drifting off. he applies himself in earnest, speeding up his strokes and tonguing the slit at the head of kouta's cock with intent deliberation. 

" _oh_ ," kouta breathes out, his free hand pushing his hair from his face, "oh, i can, in your _mouth_?" he sounds thoroughly mystified by the prospect, and takatora can't help but smile. 

"i'd like it if you did," he replies. kouta lets out another strangled _babe_ and a blissed-out sounding _thank you_ , and takatora is grateful he isn't of the mind to start gushing about how pretty takatora is when he blushes. 

instead, considerately, kouta keeps a running commentary of when he's about to cum; interspersed with praise and gratitude, it calls takatora's attention to his own arousal, largely ignored all this time except for the lightest friction offered by his pants. it's not a pressing concern, so takatora just palms himself through his unfastened pants with his free hand and lets his need come through in the way he moans around kouta. 

when kouta starts to cum, his hand trembles in takatora's hair and the muscles in his thighs and stomach tighten; he jerks up and groans, throws an arm over his eyes. he gasps out takatora's name, and then nothing else but breaths for a long moment afterwards. the taste and feel of kouta's release in his mouth draws takatora to the peak of his own arousal, and he spills over his hand as he swallows and laps at kouta's softening cock. 

the sound of kouta's breathing buzzes in takatora's ears, and bracketing him are the intermittent tremors in kouta's thighs. even without the winded exhalation of his appreciation (but made all the more sweeter because of it), takatora feels fulfilled.

kouta is still sensitive when takatora takes him into his mouth again, as far as he can manage without disrupting his breathing too much, but he's also still not altogether composed. it's endearing, how kouta blinks up at the ceiling and twirls his fingers in takatora's hair in disjointed circles, breathing lungfuls in a daze. 

takatora collects himself while remaining knelt in place and while warming kouta's cock in his mouth. it's easier like this, he finds, despite the urge to close his eyes and melt. eventually he indulges in the first, breathing through his nose in measured intervals, waiting for the stars behind his eyelids to fade. his body feels warmed all over, sated but still alert. he moves his hand, still slick with cum, behind him, easing a fingertip against and into his hole in a persistent but sedate pace, just to address the low burning need to have something inside him. he stays like this for a stretch of time that feels luxuriously long, comforted by kouta's warmth. 

it seems like ages later when, above him, kouta's breathing is interrupted by an unintelligible warble. "you actually… did it, oh, _fuck_." 

takatora blinks up at kouta, and makes an inquiring sound around his cock. kouta whines. 

"give. give me another minute, _please_." his hand leaves takatora's hair and drifts down the side of takatora's face, before he puts both hands over his own face and sighs. a deep flush has begun to spread from his neck up to his ears.

after a minute, kouta starts again. "... okay. _okay_. are you finished?"

takatora hums in assent, before drawing his mouth off kouta's cock. he drops a quick kiss to the head and sits back on his heels, both hands primly on his lap as he looks up at kouta. "i'm finished," he says, voice roughened slightly from his exertions, "thank you."

"okay," kouta nods, "you're welcome. also, _thank you_. now, take your pants off and come up here."

the shiver that plucks takatora's spine straight sends anticipation sparking through his nerves. it's a command, because of course it is, and takatora thinks, as kouta grips him by the arms - firmly, but carefully - and lifts him up, he _could_ stand to be a bit _more_ sated.

hours later, but not too many, kouta sits awake in the dark of takatora's room. 

it's not unusual for him to be up this early - his biological clock ticks on a whim entirely his own - and this time, there's nothing else that's waking him or takatora up. he's simply awake because he wants to be, and because takatora is still and sleeping beside him, perfect to stare at despite how his face is mushed against a pillow and only half-visible under the messy fall of his hair. 

alone with his thoughts and the person around which they revolve, kouta feels grounded. _steady_. like the world he holds inside him has finally righted itself, from its burning core, to the oceans that sing around it, and to the stars that dazzle in its orbit. the restless energy from the past two days has been wrung out of him, and he's returned to his natural pace.

he's maybe going to be off-balanced for a long while when he thinks about _how_ he'd returned to this relaxed, non-hyper aware state, but that doesn't worry kouta too much. takatora has enough dignity for both of them, and there's always the conveniently impenetrable coat of his armor to pull over his head if he needs it. 

(he's _definitely_ going to need it. mai always asks how his visits with takatora went, because she loves him and because she likes whispering about him with kaito. kouta isn't going to be able to lie or be understandably subtle. he wonders if they can start with water-born creatures soon, the concept is a good distraction…)

as he drifts off in his thoughts, kouta's hand runs over takatora's back in lazy, meandering passes. takatora sleeps heavily, and doesn't stir even when kouta prods at his new bruises and bitemarks. his arm bothers him even less in his sleep, but kouta helps him keep his weight off it anyway. 

because he can, kouta also takes the chance to plaster himself all along takatora's back, pulling the covers up to their shoulders and sighing contentedly against his nape. he fits his leg between takatora's and his arm around his chest, holding takatora close with his hand over his heart. 

there's still hours before daylight, and kouta relishes the way time passes on earth, how it lingers in these pockets of warmth and sweetness. eventually, he falls asleep again, but not before he feels takatora covering his hand with his own.

the tip of kouta's nose and his even, sleepy breaths are warm against takatora's nape; much the same, his hand is warm where it rests on takatora's chest, just like the line of him, pressed close against takatora's back. all of these are more than enough incentive to stay and sleep. 

but, it's morning, as the sunlight peeking from under the drapes meekly announces. despite the night's exertions and how much takatora wants to stay in this cocoon of warmth, there's a new day to contend with, ready to march on with or without their permission. 

extricating himself from kouta is no easy feat, and the lingering aftertaste of oranges makes the kiss kouta presses him into the bed with all the more difficult to resist -- but, takatora does, and kouta spends only a few moments blindly pawing at the space he'd left in the bed before sitting up himself. 

they go through their morning routine unhurriedly, returning intimacies and favors from the night before (kouta insists on buttoning takatora up; takatora towels his hair dry). 

while takatora checks his phone (confirming an invitation for a call from philip and kiriya later in the day), kouta sits himself across the bonsai in takatora's home office and lets its branches grow and curve into a glowing circle, from where mai takatsuka's voice rings out. their conversation is brief but lively ("i was thinking water creatures today?" "sure, why not, oh, the train came by again--!"), and kouta assures her he'd return after breakfast ("bring back milk buns!" the goddess of helheim says). 

the domesticity of it all continues as they sit down at the table, even without mitsuzane who peko assures him had crashed at the gaim garage. "i'll see him next time," kouta says with infinite and sunny optimism.

over the meal, kouta asks about takatora's schedule and though he makes a face at the overseas trip involving possible rogue lockseed users looming at the tail end of takatora's recovery, he's placated when takatora allows him to mention it to another rider. 

"eiji's friend," he explains, "he's a traveling - er, fighting? - doctor. date akira. he'll watch out for you, but not be all up in your face about it." that works out for takatora, who admits to planning on letting his security detail remain as it is despite the uncertainty of the torkia republic's terrain.

"there's a reasonable chance that i'll have to fight, so i appreciate the assistance." the reports from the advanced reconnaissance had not been particularly hopeful. philip would be doing a look-up for him, too, but takatora knows it might be different on the ground. 

"if you need me, just call, alright?" kouta insists, his hand curled around takatora's on the table. "it's my responsibility, too, if there's still people using lockseeds to transform."

"i will," takatora replies. "i want to wrap this trip up quickly, to be honest. the storage room needs to be cleaned out before the move is finalized."

there's so much to do, takatora thinks as he frowns into his coffee. across him, sanada presents kouta with a container of milk buns and asks if he'd be around for lunch. his steward's polite inquiry belies a simmering fondness, and it draws away takatora from his heavy musings to listen to kouta answer for himself. 

"uh, i actually have to get back to work, too." he's palpably regretful, but the smile he follows up with is so genuine and bright, takatora knows that sanada will be asking about kouta's favorite food within the day. "but thanks for asking! and for the milk buns! i'll visit again as soon as possible, if that's alright?"

"that's entirely up to the master of the house," sanada says, slanting a look at takatora and their linked hands, before returning kouta's smile with a small one of his own. "but it would be our pleasure to serve you again, kazuraba-san."

under the table, takatora taps his foot against kouta's, and hides an _i told you so_ behind a mouthful of an orange slice. 

as they wait for takatora's car to come around the driveway, kouta leans up to peck a quick kiss to takatora's cheek. he gets a dimpled smile for the effort. "good luck with work today."

"good luck with yours, too," takatora replies, pressing a kiss of his own to kouta's forehead. the warmth that blooms from it makes kouta smile, and it stays with kouta even as he travels through the zipper, as his armor and godly glow settles on him again. 

_extra - the doctor is in_

eiji's friend, _god_ , asks date akira for a favor through a _dream_. 

it sounds very mythic and possibly legendarily heroic, but it basically boils down to: "my boyfriend has a dangerous work thing, can you please make sure he's ok at the end of it?" 

which, alright, is very cute and thoughtful of him. date is in the general vicinity, give or take an hour of flying and a couple of cell medals, and agreeing is no trouble at all for a call placed through the unofficial kamen rider network.

the actual details of the trip date gets from the boyfriend himself, kureshima takatora, while he's en route to conflict riddled torkia. he also gets asked about his preferred payment options and god is suddenly date's favorite of eiji's friends (sorry, adorable gaggle of gamer doctors, but the rankings are fluid anyway and date's field hospital needs funds). 

date also gets access to kureshima's radio frequency, which is why he's immediately on his feet following the abrupt cut of it just after kureshima makes first contact with what lurked unchecked in torkia. his security detail arranges for a rendezvous with date while their partner research team tries to lock in on kureshima's signal. 

as he makes his way to torkia, date tries to send a message to god (he hasn't prayed much but it's worth a shot), and gets the impression of a searing gold and red glow surrounding slithering vines before a voice in his head that isn't his own or the mini gotou-chan's says "thanks for letting me know, i'll be there soon," with barely contained godly fury and concern. 

shenanigans and situations happen before date arrives at the station kureshima's team have set up, a safe number of kilometers away from the gaping maw leading to torkia's underground. date gets the gist of it from the lead security detail guy - nicol - who tells him that kureshima needs medical attention and the republic of torkia is about to get rehauled from the inside out.

"your boyfriend sure gets busy, doesn't he?" date comments as he goes about cleaning up kureshima's numerous scrapes and cuts, and checks for the effects of the concussion that still has him a bit cross-eyed now that he's not in an active field. 

the pout on god's face is comically incongruent with how he glows, all gold and white and shining silver armor. when kureshima mutters something about calling for help like he'd been told, god sighs and deflates, and after a blinding flash, kazuraba kouta sits by the cot, human but no less arresting. 

"at least he's not fussing too much this time." their hands, date notes, haven't once untangled. it's sweet. 

"oho, he's like that too, huh?" date says, his eyebrows rising as he appraises his patient anew. kureshima doesn't say anything, but he gives off the distinct sense of being chastised, and date laughs. 

"hey," he says to kouta, waggling his eyebrows for effect, "you got those vines things right? just hold him down next time!"

kouta glows again, but bright red this time, and date grins. he _really_ likes this god boy. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- unbelievably, i didn't listen to anything while writing this. absolute silence, just the sounds inherent to 4am and onwards. but, i recently got hooked on amatsuki's cover of yoru ni kakeru (yoasobi), so that's something?
> 
> \- last May 24 i was googling cock warming and i just wanted to say im so proud of myself that i got to put it in here. im so happy. kouta's brain has melted out of his ears while i finagled takatora into this position, and i am so happy. 
> 
> \- we skipped therapy shenanigans with takatora and kiriya and i really do want to write that but immediately following this is "let's go all riders: estate clear out" (ty commie for the title and delightful thoughts surrounding it) and that is also, very very important 
> 
> \- in the zangetsu stage play, takatora goes to investigate the site of yggdrasil's initial endeavors, the torkia republic, where rumors of lockseeds and armored riders fighting to death thrive. i didn't change much of what happened in the play, except for the manner and persistence of kouta's appearance, and this may be mentioned in the next fic anyway. just know that i, orangemelon consumer, was fed by that magnificent passion project, and im so full. 
> 
> \- kureshima estate staff are discreet and professional. they appreciate the absolute brick of a man who gets their boss to do self-care. 
> 
> \- takatora's secretaries are : mei (of invitto) and rica (of gaim, ty again to commie for this inspiring casting lifted from the absolute gold of her fics). takatora's name in peko's phone is "takatora-san 🍈"


End file.
